Hearing the noise of the scuffle, the tapstress, fancying it was Jack making an effort to escape, in spite of the remonstrances of the executioner, threw open the wicket. She felt a lump rise in her throat, for she had come to love living in America. “For instance?” She smiled. But, moving through into the first of the large main rooms that led one into another around the house, with here and there an antechamber between, it was obvious that the task was not going to be easy. He relayed many details of the location and the beautiful rivers of her home, a subject she never tired of. She hoped the lights would become hot enough to melt her into the floor. The air was sweet with the smoky perfume of myrrh, hazy and dense with incense. "Tell him that I—his adopted son, Thames Darrell— am detained here by Jonathan Wild.
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